ultimate laughs

Be careful what you wish for...Once upon a time there was a fairy godmother named Desiderata who had a good heart, a wise head, and poor planning skills—which unfortunately left the Princess Emberella in the care of her other (not quite so good and wise) godmother when DEATH came for Desiderata. So now it's up to Magrat Garlick, Granny Weatherwax, and Nanny Ogg to hop on broomsticks and make for far-distant Genua to ensure the servant girl doesn't marry the Prince.But the road to Genua is bumpy, and along the way the trio of witches encounters the occasional vampire, werewolf, and falling house (well this is a fairy tale, after all). The trouble really begins once these reluctant foster-godmothers arrive in Genua and must outwit their power-hungry counterpart who'll stop at nothing to achieve a proper "happy ending"—even if it means destroying a kingdom.

'Holy wood is a different sort of place. People act differently here. Everywhere else the most important things are gods or money or cattle. Here, the most important thing is to be important.'People might say that reality is a quality that things possess in the same way that they possess weight. Sadly alchemists never really held with such a quaint notion. They think that they can change reality, shape it to their own purpose. Imagine then the damage that could be wrought if they get their hands on the ultimate alchemy: the invention of motion pictures, the greatest making of illusions. It may be a triumph of universe-shaking proportions. It's either that or they're about to unlock the dark terrible secret of the Holy Wood hills - by mistake...

Terry Pratchett's profoundly irreverent novels are consistent number one bestseller in England, where they have catapulted him into the highest echelons of parody next to Mark Twain, Kurt Vonnegut, Douglas Adams, and Carl Hiaasen.In this Discworld installment, Death comes to Mort with an offer he can't refuse -- especially since being, well, dead isn't compulsory. As Death's apprentice, he'll have free board and lodging, use of the company horse, and he won't need time off for family funerals. The position is everything Mort thought he'd ever wanted, until he discovers that this perfect job can be a killer on his love life.

It's an offer you can't refuse.Who would not to wish to be the man in charge of Ankh-Morpork's Royal Mint and the bank next door?It's a job for life. But, as former con-man Moist von Lipwig is learning, the life is not necessarily for long.The Chief Cashier is almost certainly a vampire. There's something nameless in the cellar (and the cellar itself is pretty nameless), it turns out that the Royal Mint runs at a loss. A 300 year old wizard is after his girlfriend, he's about to be exposed as a fraud, but the Assassins Guild might get him first. In fact lot of people want him deadOh. And every day he has to take the Chairman for walkies.Everywhere he looks he's making enemies.What he should be doing is . . . Making Money!

Other children get given xylophones. Susan just had to ask her grandfather to take his vest off. Yes. There's a Death in the family.It's hard to grow up normally when Grandfather rides a white horse and wields a scythe – especially when you have to take over the family business, and everyone mistakes you for the Tooth Fairy.And especially when you have to face the new and addictive music that has entered Discworld.It's lawless. It changes people.It's called Music With Rocks In.It's got a beat and you can dance to it, but...It's alive.And it won't fade away.

Just because you can't explain it, doesn't mean it's a miracle.' Religion is a controversial business in the Discworld. Everyone has their own opinion, and indeed their own gods. Who come in all shapes and sizes. In such a competitive environment, there is a pressing need to make one's presence felt. And it's certainly not remotely helpful to be reduced to be appearing in the form of a tortoise, a manifestation far below god-like status in anyone's book. In such instances, you need an acolyte, and fast. Preferably one who won't ask too many questions...

Discworld's only demonology hacker, Eric, is about to make life very difficult for the rest of Ankh-Morpork's denizens. This would-be Faust is very bad...at his work, that is. All he wants is to fulfill three little wishes:to live forever, to be master of the universe, and to have a stylin' hot babe.But Eric isn't even good at getting his own way. Instead of a powerful demon, he conjures, well, Rincewind, a wizard whose incompetence is matched only by Eric's. And as if that wasn't bad enough, that lovable travel accessory the Luggage has arrived, too. Accompanied by his best friends, there's only one thing Eric wishes now -- that he'd never been born!

'Death has to happen. That's what bein' alive is all about. You're alive, and then you're dead. It can't just stop happening.'But it can. And it has. So what happens after death is now less of a philosophical question than a question of actual reality. On the Disc, as here, they need Death. If Death doesn't come for you, then what are you supposed to do in the meantime? You can't have the undead wandering about like lost souls. There's no telling what might happen, particularly when they discover that life really is only for the living...

How have I never read Terry Pratchett before? He's like ... Shakespeare and Wodehouse and Monty Python all wrapped into one!A student gave me this book while we were studying Macbeth in class. Wyrd Sisters is a sort of parallel story, which manages to poke fun at the play, revere the play, make inside jokes about the play, and ... well, generally turn the play on its head. All the while, you, the reader, get to feel very smart and superior for getting all the jokes and allusions.And yet it manages to avoid being gimmicky. It really is a good story with good characters, too. This is no Life of Brian where the story itself matters less than the hilarity of the parody. Wyrd Sisters may draw a good deal of life from Macbeth, but its real liveliness comes from Pratchett's skilled characterizations of a regicidal Duke, his murderess Dutchess, their depressed Fool, and three very colorful witches.Oh, it's just genius. My only problem is figuring out what Pratchett novel to read next ... he's dauntingly prolific!

WE SEE YOU. NOW WE ARE YOU.No real witch would casually step out of their body, leaving it empty.Tiffany Aching does. And there’s something just waiting for a handy body to take over. Something ancient and horrible, which can’t die.To deal with it, Tiffany has to go to the very heart of what makes her a witch . . .

'Neighbours... hah. People'd live for ages side by side, nodding at one another amicably on their way to work, and then some trivial thing would happen and someone would be having a garden fork removed from their ear.'Throughout history, there's always been a perfectly good reason to start a war. Never more so if it is over a 'strategic' piece of old rock in the middle of nowhere. It is after all every citizen's right to bear arms to defend what they consider to be their own. Even if it isn't. And in such pressing circumstances, you really shouldn't let small details like the absence of an army or indeed the money to finance one get in the way of a righteous fight with all the attendant benefits of out-and-out nationalism...

When last seen, the singularly inept wizard Rincewind had fallen off the edge of the world. Now magically, he's turned up again, and this time he's brought the Luggage.But that's not all....Once upon a time, there was an eighth son of an eighth son who was, of course, a wizard. As if that wasn't complicated enough, said wizard then had seven sons. And then he had an eighth son -- a wizard squared (that's all the math, really). Who of course, was a source of magic -- a sourcerer.

Arch-swindler Moist Van Lipwig never believed his confidence crimes were hanging offenses - until he found himself with a noose tightly around his neck, dropping through a trapdoor, and falling into...a government job?By all rights, Moist should have met his maker. Instead, it's Lord Vetinari, supreme ruler of Ankh-Morpork, who promptly offers him a job as Postmaster. Since his only other option is a nonliving one, Moist accepts the position - and the hulking golem watchdog who comes along with it, just in case Moist was considering abandoning his responsibilities prematurely. Getting the moribund Postal Service up and running again, however, may be a near-impossible task, what with literally mountains of decades-old undelivered mail clogging every nook and cranny of the broken-down post office building; and with only a few creaky old postmen and one rather unstable, pin-obsessed youth available to deliver it. Worse still, Moist could swear the mail is talking to him. Worst of all, it means taking on the gargantuan, money-hungry Grand Trunk clacks communication monopoly and its bloodthirsty piratical head, Mr. Reacher Gilt.But it says on the building Neither Rain Nor Snow Nor Glom of Nit...Inspiring words (admittedly, some of the bronze letters have been stolen), and for once in his wretched life Moist is going to fight. And if the bold and impossible are what's called for, he'll do it - in order to move the mail, continue breathing, get the girl, and specially deliver that invaluable commodity that every human being (not to mention troll, dwarf, and, yes, even golem) requires: hope.

A Discworld Novel. It's a hot Midsummer Night. The crop circles are turning up everywhere-even on the mustard-and-cress of Pewseyy Ogg, aged four. And Magrat Garlick, witch, is going to be married in the morning...Everything ought to be going like a dream. But the Lancre All-Comers Morris Team have got drunk on a fairy mound and the elves have come back, bringing all those things traditionally associated with the magical, glittering realm of Faerie: cruelty, kidnapping, malice and evil, evil murder.* Granny Weatherwax and her tiny argumentative coven have really got their work cut out this time...With full supporting cast of dwarfs, wizards, trolls, Morris Dancers and one orang-utan. And lots. of hey-nonny-nonny and blood all over the place.*But with tons of style.

Reading Sir Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series makes me smile. Because of his writing I invented the "Smile-O-meter" which measures smiles per book. Pratchett always scores high.Three years after Terry Pratchett published The Color of Magic, the first Discworld book, he published the second, The Light Fantastic, having decided convincingly that this was a worthwhile project.Though the action in The Light Fantastic takes over immediately following the events in the first book, Rincewind has fallen off of the edge of the world, this novel seems to gather momentum from a good but somewhat shaky start and proceed with a comic authority. While The Colour of Magic could have been a funny stand alone, Pratchett’s entry with The Light Fantastic seems to usher in a certainty that the Discworld as a multiverse, as a literary institution, has begun and with no end in sight.Actually, I suppose he could have written a third, making the obligatory trilogy and then moving on to something else, but Pratchett wraps up his story tidily and leaves the fertile soil of Discworld as a fun idea from which more books can be written. (There are over 50 works in publication, and the series is a phenomenon with over 80 million novels sold and in 37 languages. Pratchett himself was knighted in 2009).So what is all the fuss about? Our heroes Rincewind and Twoflower go on an adventure to save the world, or try to, or accidentally end up in all the right places, or something. The real hero of the novel, and of the series, is Pratchett himself. It is his narration that amuses, cajoles, and encourages laughter and that keeps the reader’s attention. Playfully, and with wry English humor, Pratchett weaves a fun fantasy story with references to Biblical, classical, and mythical themes as well as modern subjects like Conan the Barbarian.It is simply, a lot of fun. And produces smiles.

THE SHOW MUST GO ON, AS MURDER, MUSIC AND MAYHEM RUN RIOT IN THE NIGHT...The Opera House, Ankh-Morpork...a huge, rambling building, where innocent young sopranos are lured to their destiny by a strangely-familiar eveil mastermind in a hideously-deformed evening dress...At least, he hopes so. But Granny Weatherwax, Discworld's most famous witch, is in the audience. And she doesn't hold with that sort of thing.So there's going to be trouble (but nevertheless a good evenin's entertainment with murders you can really hum...)

On Discworld, a dying wizard tries to pass on his powers to an eighth son of an eighth son, who is just at that moment being born. The fact that the son is actually a daughter is discovered just a little too late. The town witch insists on turning the baby into a perfectly normal witch, thus mending the magical damage of the wizard's mistake. But now the young girl will be forced to penetrate the inner sanctum of the Unseen University--and attempt to save the world with one well-placed kick in some enchanted shins! Reissue.

'Don't put your trust in revolutions. They always come round again. That's why they're called revolutions. People die, and nothing changes.'For a policeman, there can be few things worse than a serial killer at loose in your city. Except, perhaps, a serial killer who targets coppers, and a city on the brink of bloody revolution. The people have found their voice at last, the flags and barricades are rising...And the question for a policeman, an officer of the law, a defender of the peace, is:Are you with them, or are you against them?